


Finding Your Heart

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: This wasn’t the way he wanted to find Damian, after everything that happened between them. This wasn’t how he wanted Alfred and Dick to reunite with him either.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 206





	Finding Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Dick was driving the plane. Crane blew up the building on purpose to cover his tracks, and was the one to lock Damian in the lab after he and the nameless henchmen fought. The whole family comes home and basically all live in the cave/Damian’s room as he recovers, and they all have conversations with him about what he was doing, why etc. Damian didn’t kill the guy who stabbed him because he recognized the henchmen was no the problem, Crane was. He’s still a good boy in my book. Glossed over kind of plotholes because I didn’t care enough and it wasn’t the point of this story ok bye.

If Bruce was grateful for anything, it was the fact that no matter what he lost, save for his parents, it always came back.

Jason came back. Dick came back. Tim came back. Stephanie came back.

Alfred, now, came back too.

Damian…he came back. And then he left again.

It was in the back of his mind, as they celebrated Alfred’s return to life, and Dick’s return from amnesia. The fact that their returns were not through darkness, not through aliens, not through a multiverse crashing down around them and changing time.

It was magic. It was a miracle.

But Damian wasn’t here. And Bruce would never ever forget that. Not now, as they shared delivery pizza at the island in the manor’s spacious kitchen. Not in the days after, as things settled back into a semblance of the old normal, with new quirks here and there. Not in the weeks after either, as Alfred returned to being Penny-One, and Dick began to retrain himself to return to the Nightwing title soon.

Just as Bruce would never forget the tears in Dick’s eyes when he explained to him and Alfred what had happened to their youngest. His breakdown, and resolve in the violence. When he explained _why_.

“It’s not your fault.” Bruce promised, even as Alfred pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and silently dabbed his eyes. “It’s mine. I…I didn’t see his grief. I didn’t understand how badly he was taking your absences. I didn’t _know_.”

“But I would have.” Alfred had whispered, closing his eyes.

“ _We_ would have.” Dick corrected.

And he’d never forget the despair on grandfather and son alike, when Dick asked if Bruce had any idea where he was, and he had to tell them no.

Damian was a sore subject, to say the least, after that. No one spoke of him, though Bruce found everyone stopping near the case holding his old uniform every so often.

Not a memorial for the dead, this time. But a memorial for the child they failed.

His name was like a bad word, a sour taste, and Bruce never forgot that either.

Most of all, he never forgot it was his fault.

Even now, as he, Tim and Stephanie fought against a gang that he had yet to determine which super villain they associated with, he thought of his son. The one not there, the one he chased away.

How much he could use his help right now. How much he missed him.

God, if Jason knew, he’d be _furious_. Furious because he didn’t learn the first time around, with him.

The fight was in the streets, and it was becoming a stalemate. Not that he and his partners for the evening would give up. But he was looking for an opening, a moment to retreat, regroup, then reappear with a new attack plan.

But the moment never came, because suddenly one of their enemies shouted.

“Boss said it’s a go! She’s blowin’!”

Before any of them could comprehend the warning, a building down the block – a lab, if Bruce had his bearings right – shuddered in an explosion. Glass from windows spraying into the street, flames pushing out right after. Dust and ash came at them in a typhoon-like wave.

And the gang members in the street laughed.

“You’re fucked.” One nearby cackled. When he came back into view, he had a gasmask on. “You’re so _fucked_ , Batman.”

Bruce punched him in the Adam’s apple, and let him drop to the ground unconscious.

“Something’s in that building.” Bruce said through the comms. “How dangerous?”

“Gotham Labs.” Tim’s voice crackled. Bruce still couldn’t see him in the floating dust. “No major projects that I know of. Or dangerous. Vegan cosmetics was the last big thing I heard about coming from there.”

“And now it’s all up in flames?” Stephanie sighed. “So much for stealing Batman’s credit card on its launch date.”

“Spoiler, please.” Tim snorted.

Before Bruce could scold them, tell them to focus, get them to get these thugs off the street, there was a shriek from the lab, and a shape running from the destroyed building.

“Take care of them.” Bruce ordered. “I’m going up ahead.”

Stephanie and Tim both gave their affirmatives, and jumped back into fighting the henchmen, now with a small element of surprise in the fog. As Bruce ran forward, he saw the shape was a woman in a lab coat.

“Help!” She was screaming. “Someone…anyone! Police! Ambulance! _Help_!”

“Ma’am.” Bruce called as he approached, careful not to scare her. She turned towards him with tears cascading down her face.

Bruce frowned. She…was clean. No ash, no burns. Her hair wasn’t even out of place. He glanced back towards the building, now smoking.

“Are you alright?”

“What? Oh, me? Yes. I’m fine. We’re all fine.” She sniffed, trying to wipe at her face. “But he’s not. He’s trapped and…and I don’t think there’s any vents in there, and we can’t-”

“He who?”

“I…” The woman paused. “I don’t know. He didn’t give a name. He just…he just appeared! Out of nowhere! Got us all out of the lab, shoved us in the bunker, told us to stay there until help arrived. Then…then the explosion happened, and when we came out to check, he was still in the lab, but…but Batman…”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“He was bleeding when we saw him.” The woman’s tears suddenly flowed harder. “But the canisters were all broken, we could see them.”

“What was in the canisters?”

“I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The woman cried. “He…he was paying for our other research, and…and he was blackmailing us. We didn’t have a choice.”

Bruce’s stomach dropped.

“Who paid you?” He demanded. “What was in the canisters?”

“Fear gas.” The woman whispered. “Jonathan Crane was forcing us to make it. Mass produce. The…the boy tonight, he saved us, but whatever happened, all the canisters are broken, and the gas is in the lab.”

The woman hid her face.

“And there’s a failsafe on the doors.” She wailed. “That…that fucking shit is dangerous. So if even only one canister malfunctioned, the lab would seal itself shut to contain it.”

“For how long?” Bruce asked. “How long does the lab seal for?”

“I don’t know!” The woman yelled. “Crane installed it! He never told us!” She stopped her foot and pointed from where she came. “But he’s in there, the gas is flooding the place, he’s hurt, I didn’t see him have a respirator, and _we can’t get him out!_ ”

Bruce nodded, shoving his own respirator onto his face. “Stay here.”

The woman, surprisingly listened, but shouted information after him. The lab was in the basement, and the remaining scientists were still trying to first reach one of the doors to the lab through the explosion wreckage, and second, try to figure out if they could even open the door.

“Red Robin, when you’re finished, I’ll need you inside.” Bruce called through his communicator as he burst through the doors and looked for a way down. Not hard, when there were various holes in the floor from the explosion. “And both of you, there’s a potential for fear gas in the area. Masks on, now.”

They both returned an affirmative, and Barbara was immediately on the line herself, relaying last known sightings of the Scarecrow.

As Bruce got to the lower levels, he began to follow the voices, the sounds of things being thrown, or pushed. After a few rounded corners, he found the gaggle of scientists, three pushing fallen shelving units and chairs away from a large metal door, and a fourth knelt in front of said door, typing wildly on a keypad.

“It’s…it’s not working!” The typer growled in frustration. “There’s…there’s nothing I can think of! _Nothing_ is working!”

“Then keep thinking!” Another one spat as he threw a table over the heads of the other two assisting him. “That kid is a fucking goner if we don’t get him out of there!”

Unlike the woman outside, Bruce didn’t announce his presence, just silently moved forward. As he reached them, he glanced into one of the windows next to the door, just to see what he was going to be working with. Who he was, hopefully, going to save, and not have to watch die a slow and painful death.

Immediately, his knees went weak.

The lab wasn’t that big. Smaller than an average fast food joint, but bigger than a grocery store public bathroom. Even through the opaque green gas, Bruce could see canisters lining the floor underneath the tables that followed the walls of the room, where microscopes, liquid-filled vials and partially constructed containers sat.

Each canister had a sizable hole in the side, and Bruce could only guess – remote detonation.

But none of that was important, not now, as he tried to stop himself from collapsing to his knees. What was important was the boy in the middle, wearing a black body suit, similar to Nightwing’s, and a black cape with a hood and faded gold trim.

Damian.

“Jesus Christ, no.” He gasped. The scientists nearby jumped, having still not seen him.

Luckily, it was Gotham, and even scientists were disillusioned to the sudden appearance of a vigilante. “We’ve gotta get that kid out of there, Bats. Just one inhale of that crap will make you hallucinate. He’s been in there at least ten minutes, probably more, who knows what the effects could be.”

“Death, probably.” Another one said. The one who spoke slapped her on the arm. “What? I’m being honest! That’s why we don’t have to waste, here!”

Damian hadn’t moved at their ruckus. He was lying on the ground, eyes closed, half curled in on himself, hand clutching his side. There was blood on his fingers, and coming from his nose. Even through the gas, Damian looked dirty. Tired.

Bruce wondered where he’d been sleeping. _Was_ he sleeping? Was he _safe_?

But then his heart stuttered again, as he noticed something else in the room. In the corner, by a door on the other side of the room. A man. A body.

A body that was, surprisingly, breathing. A body dressed like the gang members outside, that was wearing a respirator that looked suspiciously like one Bruce knew Damian used to carry, when he was Robin.

“…You all need to get out.” Bruce found himself croaking, as his surprise and heartache began to transform into action.

“What? No way. We need to get that _kid_ out!” The one at the keyboard countered. “And…and maybe that other one, I don’t know if he’s even still…”

“I’ll handle it. Now go.” Bruce heard a click on his communicator, other chatter. Alfred it sounded like, to Barbara. Dick, too. He was at the cave with Alfred. The scientists didn’t move. “I said now!”

The four jumped again, and one by one began to slowly move. The last one, the man at the door, stopped on his way. “…You get that kid out, Batman, or so fucking help me.”

Bruce glared down at him. The man shrunk away and ran after his coworkers.

Bruce looked back into the room. The man in the corner was unconscious, he could tell that much. But still.

Bruce put his hand on the window. “…I don’t know what to call you.”

Damian twitched at the noise, and twisted his head to look at Bruce directly. His mask was still green, and it didn’t move as he frowned.

“Oh, great.” Damian sighed, dropping his head. “ _You_.”

“I’m going to get you out, son.” Bruce said. “I promise.”

“Save it.” Damian huffed. But it was quick, and Bruce knew it was because he was trying not to breathe. “I’m not talking to you, Mother.”

Bruce blinked.

The gas. The hallucinations were your fears.

“It’s…it’s _me_.” Bruce tried instead. “Not your mother.”

Damian turned away, rolled with a groan to lay on his back. “My father doesn’t show up in real life, why would he show up in a fear-induced hallucination?”

Bruce almost smiled at his attitude. He was trying to fight the gas, like it was a sentient being. That was so like him.

God, Bruce missed it.

“I…Rob…” Bruce swallowed. “Da-”

“Do not say another word, Master Bruce.” Alfred scolded on the communicator. His voice was loud. “Focus on getting that door open.”

“I…right.” Bruce shook his head, and crouched, pulling out a code-breaking device from his utility belt.

“Tim will be in to help you in a few minutes.” Dick now, but he sounded distracted. “And we should be only a few minutes behind him.”

Bruce froze. “…What?”

“We’re coming.” Dick said plainly. “We’re coming to get Damian.”

“Wait, no.” Bruce growled. “Nightwing, you’re not recovered yet. A-Alfred, you’re…you are not to be in the _field_. It’s not safe-”

“And you will have your hands full with the other man in the chamber.” Alfred shot back. “Not to mention, you only have a respirator for yourself. From your cowl footage, it’s clear Damian gave his to that man. You know as soon as you get in there, he will be in the throws of the effects of the gas, and won’t recognize you. He doesn’t recognize you _now_. He will fight you, or flee, before you can get him any kind of help.”

“And we are not letting that happen.” Dick hissed. “We’re bringing Damian home, Bruce, or so help me-”

“It’s not safe.” Bruce snapped back, hitting buttons on his device. He could hear Damian babbling in the lab now. Talking about how he’s not scared of anything, least of all his father, or his judgment. Which, of course, Bruce knew, meant the complete opposite. He ignored the guilt in his heart, at least for a moment. “You are both to stay in the cave and wait for-”

“Bruce.” Alfred said coldly. “I am coming to get my grandson. Nightwing is coming to get his brother. And there is not a goddamn thing you can do to stop us.”

Bruce heard the distinct sound of a link click off.

“…So…” Stephanie chimed in after a moment. “Red’s on his way in and…I guess I’ll wait out here for Nightwing and, uh, Penny-One to arrive.”

Bruce frowned, squeezed the device in his hand a little too tightly, heard it creak in his grip. He continued to search through codes, the others be damned.

They didn’t know what he would do. Their beliefs were wrong. He wouldn’t worry about the man who clearly stabbed his son. He was unconscious and had a breather. He was fine. Tim could take him, whenever he got there.

No. Bruce would rush in, and he’d take his son into his arms. He’d put pressure on the wound, and hold his boy, no matter how hard Damian fought him, no matter how deep in the gas’s hallucinations he was.

He’d hold his son and this time, he was not letting go. For anything, or anyone.

He heard Tim arrive behind him, and glanced back into the chamber as Tim pulled a wire from his glove to plug into the keypad on the door. Damian was muttering to himself now. But more than that, he was trembling. Sweating. His eyes were wild behind the mask, darting back and forth, or trying to keep them closed, and failing.

He stood, put his hand on the thick glass. He wondered what Damian was seeing, hearing. “Son.” He called, and Damian twitched, curling deeper into himself. “Focus on my voice.”

“No.” Damian shot back.

“Batman, it’s not a good idea.” Tim offered, clicking away on his pad. “You know he’s hearing things. It’s not coming across as you.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

“Doesn’t mean it won’t be construed into something else by the time he hears it.” Tim snapped. “You know that.”

“So you want him to lie in there and suffer?” Bruce shot back. He saw Tim tighten his jaw. “The least we can do is _try_.”

“The least we can do is focus on _getting him out of there._ ” Tim countered. “So save your emotional vomit for later and _help me_.”

He huffed a frustrated breath, but…Tim was right. Of course Tim was right. So he pushed at the door, testing how tight it was, if the explosion had loosened it at all, and settled back in next to Red Robin to hack into the system.

The code was seven digits, and after they believed they figured out three, Bruce glanced over to make sure Tim had his respirator on. Glanced up at the unsteady building around them, that could theoretically collapse on them all at any moment. After four numbers, he glanced back to Damian. His trembles had manifested constant twitching now. Fingers, ankles, lips.

The gas seemed to be settling a little now, the room a little less green. That didn’t help, of course, since Damian was on the floor, where said gas was settling. But it would make containment easier. Wouldn’t reach the city, or any one who wasn’t in this room.

One less thing standing between he and his boy.

His heart fluttered when they hit the fifth digit. Hope, he could _hope_ , he _had_ hope. _Damian_ had hope.

And when Tim’s device dinged for the sixth a moment later, Nightwing and Penny-One appeared in the doorway.

Dick was in his full Nightwing uniform, the one he hadn’t yet worn since before the amnesia. The one he was wearing when he was shot, Bruce realized, as he noticed the shadow of the large bloodstain on the costume’s neck.

Alfred was in black and dull green tactical gear, a black eye mask and a clear respirator adorning his face. He had a shotgun in hand, but Bruce saw at least one more handgun on his hip.

He forgot sometimes, Alfred used to be in the British army.

“Move.” Alfred demanded. Tim shifted to the side of the door, eyes still on his tablet. Bruce didn’t. “Batman, I won’t ask again.”

“He really won’t.” Nightwing mused as they walked forward. He was just finishing putting on his own rebreather. “Seriously, Bruce. Let us handle this.”

“He is _my_ son.” Bruce countered, but his voice wasn’t right. It wasn’t as authoritative. It was almost whiny.

Almost _scared_.

“And you ran him off in the first place.” Alfred countered. “So the likelihood that you are the first one he’d want to see is almost zero.”

“Not to mention, there’s an asshole in there who, by the looks of it, stabbed him.” Nightwing added, glancing into the window. “So it’d probably be better if you took care of that guy than one of us because let me tell you, B. We’re already not happy.”

Alfred pumped his shotgun. “Indeed.”

“We’d also like some cover, if you don’t mind.” Dick said brightly. “There’s still been no sign of Crane. And if he or anyone else shows up while we’re trying to wrangle Damian, there could be trouble.” Dick looked over with a dark grin. “And we don’t want any more trouble, you know?”

And he did. Bruce did know. Bruce knew all of that, and on a normal case, he’d have already suggested and done all of it.

But, still. His heart was getting in the way. For once, his heart was overriding his head, and all he found himself saying was, “But he’s my son…”

For the first time that night, Alfred softened a little. He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “So let us help you get your son home safely.”

At that moment, Damian screamed. No words, just a loud sound as he dropped to his back, body bowing as his chest and hips lifted.

Dick swallowed. “Red.”

“I’m working on it!” Tim snapped, angrily punching buttons on his tablet. There was the sound of something falling across the room. “I think if I can just…”

The tablet beeped, and the door sighed as the seal broke.

Dick was at the door instantly, digging his fingers into the seam until the door shifted. Bruce grabbed it too, pulling it until the gap was wide enough for their bodies to slip through.

“Kid!” Dick was calling as he fell into the room first. Damian growled in response. Dick jumped across the room anyway, dropping to his knees. “I’ve got you.”

Tim got into the room next, and he silently went for Damian’s assailant. Then Alfred, who followed Dick. Bruce remained just inside the room.

“Can you hear me?” Dick asked quietly, running his hand over Damian’s hair. “Can you hear me, D?”

“Fuck off.” Damian gasped, pulling away from Dick’s hand and struggling to twist up onto his elbows. His cape twisted around his biceps. “F-fuck off, I don’t have to listen to _you_.”

“I know.” Dick said smoothly. He glanced at Alfred, who already had gauze out, and was trying to assess Damian’s injuries. “…Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“What, did Satan suddenly forget his own name?” Damian spat, waving his arm like he was swatting at a fly around his head. “We already had this conversation last time I was in Hell, you twat.”

Bruce felt himself twitch at the statement. But he didn’t get any more time to think about it, as Tim was calling, “Any time you feel like it, Batman!”

Bruce shook his head, running over to help Tim with the other man in the lab.

“So yes, I know your name. And I know what you’re going to say.” Damian droned as he slowly shifted to his knees. “I know my parents hate me. I know I’m worthless. I know it’s my fault everyone is dead. Or was there something else you’d like to add?”

“…Oh, my boy.” Alfred whispered, and Damian froze. His eyes went wide as he slowly sat back on his knees. “My boy, it’s alright.”

Damian blinked, and tears appeared in his eyes. Almost robotically, he turned his head towards Alfred. “No.”

Alfred smiled. “Yes, my dear. It’s me. I’m here.”

“No!” Damian wailed. He turned back towards the room, searching. Eventually his eyes landed on something above and behind Dick’s shoulder. “Get him out!”

Dick glanced behind him, just to make sure there was nothing, and even looked over towards Bruce and Tim. They both shrugged.

“Pennyworth does not belong in Hell.” Damian hissed. “You’ve stolen him, haven’t you. You’ve stolen him and you’ve trapped him here, you overgrown piece of shit. No wonder you were kicked out of Heaven, you absolute waste of space!”

Damian tried to lunge, but the slice in his side reacted to the movement, and he recoiled instantly, shoving his hand against it.

“I’ll duel you.” He decided. “I’ll duel you for his soul, and I’ll kill you. Then _I’ll_ rule Hell, and I’ll be sure to get all the souls you’ve stolen _out_.”

“Damian.” Alfred tried softly. He passed the gauze to Dick. “My dear boy, I’m not in Hell.” He reached out and carefully took Damian’s hand between both of his. Damian’s eyes, impossibly, grew wider, as he turned to look at Alfred once more. “And neither are you.”

“I should be.” Damian breathed. “I should be for what I did to you.”

“You did nothing to me.” Alfred promised. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

 _It was mine._ Bruce thought, as he rolled the man and pulled his arms together for Tim. _It was mine, and I let Damian take the blame._

“I should have done something. I should have figured something else out.” Damian gasped, tears rolling down his face. He jerked, but didn’t take his eyes off Alfred, as Dick pressed the gauze to his side. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Damian.” Alfred promised, squeezing Damian’s hand. “Absolutely _nothing_.”

“D, I need you to breathe.” Dick hummed. Damian jumped again, looked towards him. “Or, well, I need you to breathe slower. In and out.”

“I’m sorry.” Damian continued, eyes looking around the space, looking right through Dick. There was an accent in his voice now, and both Dick and Alfred knew too well that his accent only returned when their boy was at his lowest. “Pennyworth, I…I should have sacrificed myself. Bane would have happily killed me instead of you.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Alfred continued to try to soothe. “Damian, just focus on my voice, alright?”

“I should have let him kill me. I should have been there for Grayson.” Damian rambled. “I could have pushed him out of the way. Taken the bullet.” He tried to tug his hand from Alfred’s but the old man wouldn’t let go. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I _belong_ here. I failed you, and I failed Grayson and I am worthless so of _course_ I belong down here in this god forsaken pl-”

“Hey.” Dick whispered. Balancing holding the pressure against Damian’s wound in one hand, he reached for Damian’s free hand with the other. Damian’s fingers twitched in his grip, and he watched with almost glee as recognition hit Damian’s eyes. “Kiddo, you didn’t fail me.”

Damian’s tears fell faster.

“You have never failed me a day in your life.” Dick smiled. “And look, see? I’m right here. I’m fine.”

“G-Grayson?” Damian murmured hopefully.

“Right here, Damian.” Dick nodded. Damian blinked at him, then looked at Alfred, then back. Then his eyes seemed to roam the room, like he was seeing it for the first time. He even looked over to Bruce, Tim and the man in the corner. “I came home.”

“…I’m sorry.” Damian whispered, looking back towards Dick. “I should have been there.”

Dick kept his grin, and shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t have.” He glanced behind Damian, watched as Alfred let go of his hand to reach into one of his pockets. It reappeared with the extra respirator they had brought, and he silently held the back of Damian’s head as he pressed it to his face. Once again, Damian didn’t seem to notice the action, nor Alfred retaking his hand. “I’m frankly real damn glad you weren’t.”

“It’s my job to protect Batman. _My_ Batman.” Damian continued, frantically trying to blink the tears from his eyes. He turned to Alfred. “It’s my job to protect my _family_.”

“It’s not.” Alfred smiled too. “Your job as always been to allow us to love you, and to come home safe at the end of the day.”

“Your job is to be a kid.” Dick added. “Right now, your job is to not bleed out on this floor. Think you can do that for me?”

But Damian was shaking his head. Damian was pulling his trembling hands from theirs and hiding his face behind them as he doubled over himself and pressed his head to his knees.

“I’m sorry.” He cried. “I’m so sorry.”

“…I don’t think he believes they’re real.” Tim whispered as he leaned back from the unconscious man.

Bruce shook his head. “He won’t until his system is free of the gas.”

“Or until he stops losing blood.” Tim hummed. “We’ve gotta get him back to the cave.”

“I’m so sorry.” Damian continued across the room. “Please forgive me. Please, _please_ forgive me.”

“…I agree.” Bruce sighed. He watched as Alfred pulled Damian’s hand back into his, and ran the other along the back of his head. As Dick, keeping one hand against the injury, wrapped his arm around Damian’s back and leaned his cheek on his shaking spine. “We need to get him home.”

“Want me to deal with this guy while you go with them?” Tim asked, pushing himself onto his feet.

Bruce watched for a moment longer. Listened as Damian sobbed, as Damian hated himself. Watched as Dick closed his eyes in sorrow, as Alfred wiped away his own tears too.

“No, I’ll…I’ll stay. They have him.” Bruce admitted, despite how tight his heart felt. “The more of us finishing this up, the faster we can all get home and be with him.” Tim nodded and helped Bruce to his feet, then leaned over to haul the man up. “…Nightwing.”

Dick opened his eyes and glanced over. After a moment, he nodded and sat back up. “Alfie.”

Alfred nodded too, reaching into another pocket and pulling out a syringe. Dick gently rolled Damian to his side, which Damian surprisingly allowed, and carefully gathered the boy into his arms.

“P-Please forgive me.” Damian continued, still hiding his eyes behind his one hand. As soon as he was settled, Alfred leaned forward and plunged the needle into his throat.

Like everything else, the fear gas made it so Damian didn’t notice.

They were all silent as the effects took hold. As Damian’s cries slowed, and tapered off into slow, watery breathes. As his hand dropped from his face in unconsciousness.

It was like a funeral procession as they left the remnants of the lab. Dick first, Damian in his arms. Alfred right behind them. Tim and Bruce bringing up the rear with the nameless man between them.

On the street, the GCPD were already swarming, taking the rest of the gang into custody. The plane Alfred and Dick brought sat in the middle of the road not far away.

“Get him home.” Bruce murmured as he passed Dick. “Call with any updates. We should be back soon.”

“Take your time.” Dick hummed. “It’s going to take us a while to get him stable.”

Bruce nodded, and gave Dick’s shoulder a grateful squeeze. He nodded to Alfred, who gave him a grim smile, and then they parted ways. Bruce watched as they loaded into the plane, as it took off down the street.

He exhaled, and let himself smile, just a little.

He’d found him. He’d found his boy.

It was another two or so hours before the rest of them could clamor home, the city saved, the day won. They’d found Crane, and they each took an extra punch or two to him, in honor of Damian.

But when Bruce stepped out of the Batmobile in the cave, the first sound to greet his ears was Damian crying. Still.

He frowned as he moved up the stairs. Had the gas not worn off yet? Why hadn’t they given him an antidote?

But he stopped as the medbay came into view. Damian was hooked up to every machine available, injuries bandaged and Dick was lying next to him on the cot. Damian himself was sat up, and engulfed in the embrace of one Alfred Pennyworth.

“You’re alive.” He was wailing, clinging to Alfred’s torso. To Dick, who was rubbing his back, he cried, “You came back.” Then to both, even as Alfred tried to wipe at the boy’s eyes. “You’re both _here_.”

“Like we could ever stay away from you, kiddo.” Dick smirked.

But still, among the tears of relief and reunion, was the litany that wasn’t as influenced as the fear gas as they’d hoped.

“I’m sorry.” Damian whispered. Alfred just stroked at his hair. Dick just rolled over and wrapped his arms around his waist, careful of the now bandaged stab wound nearby. “I’m so sorry. For everything that’s happened. For everything I did. Everything I _didn’t_ do.”

It was something they’d have to work on, all of them. And a confrontation was coming, Bruce knew. But that was okay. That was fine. It didn’t matter. There was only one thing that mattered. One thing that Bruce, and everyone, was grateful for.

Damian was home.


End file.
